


Of Coal and Pearls

by SydneyLouWho



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance, Tragedy, Two-Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-02-07 16:04:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1905207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SydneyLouWho/pseuds/SydneyLouWho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He pretended to have fallen asleep because admitting anything would make what would happen next infinitely more difficult.</p><p>Hayffie.  Two-Shot.  Spans from their first meeting, to their last.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of Coal and Pearls

When Haymitch first laid eyes on Effie Trinket, he knew he'd never despise a woman more. She was everything he hated about the Capitol, an absurdly dressed, ignorant abomination of a human. He hated her shrill Capitol accent, her vomit-colored wigs, and the obnoxious clicking that her heels made as she made her way down the tile corridors of the justice building.

"Nice to meet you," she said, reaching a hand out for him to shake, "I remember your games, it was quite the year!"

Her enthusiasm for the year that his entire world was demolished made him want to puke on her already-vomit-colored blouse, although the sudden wave of nausea could've been related to the bottle of whiskey he'd already downed, despite the fact that it was only eight in the morning. Instead of shaking her outstretched hand, he spit on it. She gasped, her smile fading. He was certain that if she hadn't had five layers of makeup on her face, her face would be crimson.

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance, _sweetheart_ ," he said, his gruff voice dripping with alcohol and sarcasm.

* * *

The first year was definitely the worst. She hadn't realized how much work went into making the children perfect, only to watch them die on the television screen.

She and Haymitch had sat on the sofa in District 12's apartment, having had given up on trying to get their tributes sponsors. The stylists had gone home, as they typically did right after their tributes were sent off. The girl had died at the cornucopia within five minutes and the boy was utterly hopeless at that point. Haymitch took a swig from the bottle in his hand as the screen showed their tribute, lying in the bushes, bleeding to death from a knife wound that a career had inflicted on him.

They'd tried their hardest to get him sponsors, so they could get him something to help at least numb his pain, but the odds were not in his favor. The Capitolites were too hung up on an attractive, charming boy from District 4 to pay any mind to the small kid from the mining district.

Haymitch was used to the rejection, but it was all new to Effie. When the cannon indicating his death finally went off, she burst into tears. Her gold makeup streamed down her face, making it appear as if gold was melting on her porcelain face. She leaned over and buried her face in his shirt. He let her cry on his shoulder, not because he felt any compassion for her, but out of sheer laziness and the effort it would take to reach up and push her heavy-wigged head off of his shoulder.

"It gets easier," he mumbled, his voice slurring, "trust me." He offered her his half-empty bottle and she took it without argument.

She swore to herself that she'd never let herself go like that ever again. She'd treat the tributes more like clients than friends. She couldn't let herself get attached. She wouldn't let herself get hurt again.

* * *

Effie was disgusted by Haymitch. Every part of him was something she had an unwavering distain for. She hated how he always smelled of liquor and how he gave up on every set of tributes they were given.

She hated him, so she didn't realize how comfortable she'd become with him and hadn't noticed the slow shift from her wishing his liver would just give up already to being generally content in his presence.

Nobody else could see the shift either, since she'd still yell at Haymitch often for his idiotic ways, but her insults had subconsciously become more lighthearted and joking.

They'd both known Katniss and Peeta were different from most of their tributes from the minute Katniss had volunteered for her sister at the reaping. Katniss had something that was rare in the district's tributes; she had a will to survive. And Peeta's unique trait was his heart and his selflessness when it came to Katniss.

It was the first time that Haymitch and Effie had actually been sent back to the apartment. The stylists had stayed that time under Cinna's orders. He believed from the beginning that Katniss would win; they all did. They all sat on the sofa this time, watching the finale of the games. Effie was on the edge of her seat and Haymitch smiled slightly at her unwavering sense of hope. A bottle of champagne sat on the coffee table, just in case, but Haymitch knew that Cato was a tough competitor. It was very unlikely that either one of their tributes could kill him.

Still, though, they watched.

By the time the screen showed that Katniss and Peeta were the only remaining tributes, everyone was on the edge of their seats. Effie grabbed Haymitch's hand and squeezed it and their eyes locked for a moment, sorrow in both of their eyes. There had to be only one victor.

Katniss pulled a handful of nightlock from her pocket and the room went silent. "No," Effie breathed.

"They have to have a victor," Haymitch said, pulling his hand away from Effie's, "they have to or their whole system will be broken. It's genius." He laughed, placing the small flask he'd been drinking from on the table in front of him. "It's perfect."

"What _are_ you talking about?" Effie snapped.

"Just watch."

Instead of tears and whiskey, the seventy-fourth games ended in cheers and champagne. Effie poured the drinks, handing each of them a half-full glass of the bubbly liquid, knowing that they'd all have work to do. The stylists left to prepare Katniss and Peeta's final interview outfits, leaving Haymitch and Effie alone on the sofa, sipping on their champagne. They were now facing each other, talking about the games and about its victors. It crossed Effie's mind that this was probably the only conversation they'd had with each other that had involved more smiles than bickering. Haymitch noticed that the red faux flower in Effie's wig and, although he usually wouldn't do anything, he reached up and pushed it back in place. Her breath caught in her chest as she felt his hand brush against her ear. He'd always been cautious around her, careful not to touch her, as if her Capitol ignorance was contagious.

He leaned his face slowly toward hers, not fully knowing what he was doing with the champagne emotions guiding him. She smelled of some kind of flower he couldn't quite place a name to. He smelled of alcohol. Their lips were inches away from touching, but he pulled back abruptly. "What am I doing?" he said, standing up, "I have to go check on the lovebirds, make sure they came back all in one piece." He quickly fled the room, shaking his head.

They avoided each other for the rest of the time Haymitch was in the Capitol.

* * *

The next time they saw each other, it wasn't in the Capitol or even in the justice building, but in his own home, the day before the quarter quell's reaping.

He heared the _click click click_ of her heels on the paved sidewalk that led to his house in Victor's Village before he saw her, the sound piercing the stark silence that surrounded the secluded area of District 12, and he knew who was coming before she even got to the door. He didn't expect her to look so distraught, though, makeup smudged slightly, as if she'd been crying and had tried her hardest to fix it quickly. He hadn't seen her anything less than giddy since the end of the first games she escorted for.

"Why are you here?" Haymitch asked sharply. He'd just gotten up and hadn't had time to pour a drink yet. His head ached from the hangover he'd woken up with.

"Isn't it awful?" Effie exclaimed, ignoring his question, "how could they do this?"

"They can do whatever they want. I'm used to getting screwed over by the Capitol." His irritation was obvious.

"Can I come in?" she asked quietly.

"Do what you want."

He retreated inside and she followed him, crinkling her nose because the place reeked of alcohol. She stepped over the trash and clothes that littered the floor and made her way to the sofa, sitting down. He grabbed a bottle from a cabinet in the kitchen and sat in an armchair across the room from her.

"Can we talk?" she said quietly, her focus directed on a loose string on her skirt, which she tugged at carefully. Haymitch noted that her Capitol accent grew more subtle when she talked softly.

"Depends."

"I don't know if I can do it," she said, sounding unusually small, " I don't know if I could sentence you to your death. _Any of you_."

He chuckled. "How is it any different from the way you sentence kids to death every year?"

"I just, I care about all of you. I know you."

"Why are you here?"

The question took her by surprise and she looked up at him, their eyes meeting. "I- I don't know," she stuttered, "I guess I was just hoping you'd say something that would make me not care if you died."

He raised the bottle he'd been holding to his mouth and tilted his head back. "Do you want me to? I can come up with some pretty shitty things to say about you."

"No." Silence filled the air. "I shouldn't be here," she said, her accent becoming more shrill and her voice becoming louder, "you're a filthy drunk and you'll never understand."

He stood up and grabbed her shoulder forcefully, turning her so she was facing him. "I don't understand?" he snarled, "You think I don't understand what it's like to lose people I care about? People like you murdered my entire family. They took away every person in this world I cared about. And you're telling me that I don't understand pain. I understand pain all too well." His expression frightened her and for a moment, she thought he'd certainly wrap his large hands around her neck to strangle her. "I'd rather be a filthy drunk who understands than an ignorant bitch like you."

Tears filled her eyes. "Help me understand, then," she whimpered. She was sick and tired of being called ignorant, but deep down she knew that it was true.

He let go of her shoulder and grabbed her face, pulling her lips to his forcefully.

"Now go pull my name out of that bowl," he said, his voice low and aggressive, "and you'll know just a miniscule amount of the pain I know."

* * *

Effie was shaking as she reached into the bowl of girls' names that only contained one slip of paper. She was trying, with difficulty, to hold herself together. She had to be that optimistic, bright escort that everyone despised.

After she called the inevitable name and Katniss took her place on the stage, not even having to be directed to do so, she held her breath and reached into the second bowl. Her hands quaked as she unfolded the slip of paper she held in her hands. She only had to glance at it to know what it said. She couldn't breathe, but she maintained her painted-on smile.

"Haymitch Abernathy."

She felt a sick sense of relief when Peeta volunteered to take his place, because as much as she adored Peeta, she couldn't stand to lose Haymitch. Knowing this made her realize how selfish she really was and was disgusted with herself.

As they boarded the train to the Capitol, Haymitch nudged her and whispered, "how did it feel?"

She acted as if she didn't hear him.

She didn't address his question until after Katniss and Peeta had gone to bed on the train. Everything was quiet and they both sat on the sofa, Effie sitting straight up with her ankles crossed and Haymitch all but passed out drunk.

"I'm sorry," Effie whispered.

"Thought so," he chuckled without a trace of humor.

"It was awful that you did that to me," she said quietly.

"It was awful what your people did to me," he retorted.

She sighed. "Stop that," she cried, "stop acting as if everyone in the Capitol has one mind and we're all exactly the same. We're people too. I'm a living breathing human with complex emotions who just happens to be from the Capitol and I'm sick and tired of being treated like I'm not. I'm more like you than you think, you know."

"We're nothing alike," he growled.

She rolled her eyes. "You're impossible. And you're just as ignorant as I am. You think I'm the same person you spit on in the justice building, who thought of the games as just that. Games. But I'm not that girl anymore. I know what it's like to see everyone hurting all around me and not being able to do anything about it. It might not be year round for me, but it's still there. I regret every time I pull a twelve-year-old's name from the reaping bowl. I think about what might've happened if I'd moved my hand slightly one way or the other. I go home and I think about it. It haunts me, Haymitch, and I can't do anything but smile. I can't do anything but put on a mask every day and smile for the cameras. Up until the end of last year, I wanted a new district assignment so badly, but I get it now. They keep me here because I'm the only escort that they know can see it all and still smile." She was quickly losing the battle against her tears.

For once, Haymitch had nothing to say.

"It kills me that these kids think of me as a monster," she managed to say through her tears, head hung low, "I don't want to be a monster."

"I'm not good at this whole _emotions_ thing, really, I try to avoid them at all costs."

"I've noticed," she said, smiling slightly through the tears. There was a long silence until Effie spoke again. "I should probably sleep. I can't wake up late tomorrow."

Haymitch was already passed out on the couch, so she stood up quietly and made her way back to her room.

* * *

When they arrived at the Capitol, there was an obvious change from the previous year. Haymitch was barely drinking anything, doing his best to make sure Katniss and Peeta had a chance. He was also talking to other victors quite often, which puzzled Effie.

When she got a call telling her that she'd have to leave them prematurely, she didn't feel relief, as she would have in previous years, but instead felt sorrow. She actually _wanted_ to help them that year, but she also knew that she had to follow the Capitol's orders.

Haymitch was the first she told of her departure. It was, again, after everyone had gone to their rooms, but she felt somehow that she'd have to tell him first, although she didn't know why.

"Damn Capitol wants us at a disadvantage," he said, obviously irritated. A glimmer of hope rose up in her at the realization that he'd just told her that she was _useful_. Although it was indirect, it was probably the only genuine compliment Haymitch had ever given her. A slight blush rose on her cheeks that was fortunately disguised by her makeup.

She uncrossed and crossed her legs again, not sure what to say.

He scooted towards her, grabbing her chin and turning her face towards his. He knew he had to say something, since if everything went according to his plan, he'd never see her again. "You're not a monster, okay?" He'd intended for it to sound nicer, but it hadn't come out quite right. She smiled, a genuine smile. Their faces were close, and she noticed that his breath only faintly smelled of alcohol. He'd given her a compliment while he was almost sober.

This time it was her who closed the gap between them. She placed a kiss on his cheek and tried to stand up, but he pulled her back down, kissing her lips. She was taken aback, but after a few moments found herself kissing him back. The kiss was hungry and aggressive, as if their lips were in a battle in which Effie was willingly losing. Soon he pushed her backwards and she was lying on her back on the sofa and he was on top of her. He tugged at her wig and she pulled away from the kiss, swatting his hand away.

Together they stood up and started moving towards Effie's bedroom. He pushed her up against a wall in the hallway forcefully, causing her to lose her breath. one of her sleeves was askew and her skin was exposed, revealing a fading bruise from when he'd grabbed her the week before out of anger. They eventually made their way back to her room and he began tugging down her dress, exposing her pink bra, an exact match to the dress she'd been wearing. He wrapped his arms around her, surprised by her softness. He'd always imagined her skin to be made of porcelain.

By then, her wig was already askew, so she decided she no longer cared and ripped it off, causing hair pins to fly in every direction. She removed her wig cap and tossed it all carelessly on the floor, which was was an unusual thing for her to do, but at that moment, she had no idea what _usual_ even was.

Late that night, they laid together under the covers, bare legs intertwined. She traced circles on his exposed back absentmindedly. She pondered the fact that she'd just slept with the last person on earth she would've thought she'd have slept with and that he wasn't at all like any other man she'd slept with in the past. Haymitch wasn't young or fit or in any way Capitolian, but she decided she didn't care. And in that lack of caring about his physical appearance, she wondered if perhaps she was actually changing for the better and it wasn't just a dramatic inner monologue to make herself feel more human. It was real and it was because of him.

"How did we end up this way?" she asked, still tracing circles on his back, "so hopelessly broken beyond repair."

"Everything's broken right now," he replied, "but it's our responsibility to pick up the pieces." He considered telling her about his plans for the games, but he couldn't bring himself to speak any more.

They were encased in silence for a moment, lost in thought, before Effie spoke again. "You know I think I might be in love with you, Haymitch," she said quietly, "and I think I knew that all along, but I was too stubborn to admit it."

He pretended to have fallen asleep because admitting anything would make what would happen next infinitely more difficult.

* * *


	2. Of Morphling and Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It wasn't a good ending, and it wasn't pretty, but wasn't that the point of a star-crossed love? The lovers were doomed from the start.
> 
> Hayffie. Two-Shot. Spans from their first meeting, to their last.

* * *

Effie couldn't stop shaking as she sat in her jail cell, hoping that the dark would consume her and set her free. The cold scratched at her skin and the feeling in her bare feet was lost. The floor was damp with her urine and blood, but all she could think of was how cold she was. The only sounds that echoed through the prison were the sounds of Annie Cresta sobbing and other prisoners screaming down the hall.

Every day they'd let each of them out, one by one and the guards would strap them to a chair and ask them questions that they didn't know the answers to. When the answers didn't come, the guards would smile and turn the little knob on the side of the chair, sending electricity through the prisoner's body. Once sufficiently tortured, the prisoners would be returned. This cycle was the only thing that kept Effie aware of the number of days she'd been imprisoned; every time she was electrocuted, she'd return to her cell and make a mark on the wall with the blood that was inevitably on her wrists from being chained up and beaten.

After a few months, she didn't want to count anymore.

* * *

By the time the rebels claimed her, after many other missions in which only valuable prisoners were released, she was nearly dead, a breathing corpse with greying skin and thinning hair.

He visited her one evening after dinnertime, a few days after her arrival. He passed a dozen familiar, pale faces as he walked through the medical ward, silent bodies on white beds with bruised faces, but he found her at the very end. He almost didn't recognize her, a skeleton of a women dressed in a hospital gown and with bruises replacing the makeup that once dressed her face. She was still in her bed; he would've thought she was dead if it weren't for the shallow breaths that caused her chest to rise and fall ever-so-slightly.

Afraid that touching her would rip apart her paper skin, he stood beside her bed, hands crossed in front of him.

"What have I done to you?" he whispered, "What have _they_ done to you?"

He stood for a long time, just looking at her, as if his stare would cause her eyelids to flutter open and the color to return to her cheeks.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

* * *

When Effie woke up, she was alone. Not alone in the sense that there were no humans around, though, because there were plenty of uniformed people buzzing about, tending the the sick and wounded, but alone in the sense that she was the one in the room that nobody cared about. Nobody said anything to her, but she could see it in their cold looks as they tended to her; she was a waste of their morphling and drugs, a Capitol monster that nobody had wanted to save. They'd rather that she'd be dead.

It wasn't until Prim came to work, the day after she woke up, that she could even ask where she was. Prim was kind to her, speaking to her with her gentle voice and reassuring her that she would be okay and informing her of the events that had occurred since her imprisonment, but it was the only bit of kindness that she received. Primrose was different, though, than the scared little girl whose name she'd pulled from the glass reaping ball years ago; she was older, less innocent. Effie couldn't imagine being a child and losing her home, seeing her friends explode around her.

When she finally looked into a mirror, it wasn't Effie that stared back at her, but a pile of bones with a thin layer of tissue paper skin. She looked far from human, her hair in patches on her head and her face sunken, but she couldn't will herself to care about that anymore; it seemed too shallow. She wished she could care about shallow things, because that would prove that she was still the same person that she was before imprisonment and that the war hadn't changed her, but the war had changed her. She was empty.

Haymitch didn't visit her until days later, having debated with himself numerous times as to whether he cared (or whether he wanted people to know that he cared). He was honestly terrified to see her awake.

She stared at him as he made his way through the medical ward, still trying to decide what emotion she felt towards him.

"Effie, I-"

"Fuck you, Haymitch," she spat, some of the strength returning to her voice as a boiling feeling rose in her chest.

"I saved you," he snapped.

"You were the reason I needed saving." She tried to sit up and assume a more aggressive stance, but her muscles were weak and she collapsed back onto the bed. In a lower voice, looking around for people listening, she added, "You slept with me and left me promptly afterward. I loved you and you let me rot away in a prison cell." Tears streaked her cheek, tears of anger mixed with tears of sorrow.

"I'm sorry," he said, all anger faded from his face, "I really am."

"Please stay away from me."

And he did.

Even when she was preparing Katniss for the execution of President Snow, she kept her empty eyes downcast, avoiding Haymitch, whose eyes she could feel burning into her skin, hoping for a glance upward. She knew it was childish, but she couldn't give him the satisfaction.

* * *

Effie's flashbacks weren't like Katniss or Haymitch's; instead of coming at night, hers were in broad daylight, every day. Anything that sounded like electricity would set her off; the buzz of a drill outside as the Capitol was being rebuilt would send her into a frenzy, lying on the ground with her palms to her ears, a shaking, sobbing mess. And to add to this, her family refused to acknowledge her existence, convinced that she'd helped to overthrow President Snow. Effie had no one.

It took her months to pick up the phone, but she couldn't stand it anymore. The Capitol was too noisy, too reliant on electricity; everything sent her back to that grimy, cold prison cell.

She called the one person who owed her anything.

"Effie." The surprise was evident in his slurred voice.

She cleared her throat, mustering up the last bit of confidence that she had left, tryinh to sound as if talking to him didn't affect her at all, despite her heart racing in her chest. "I need a favor."

"D'pends on the favor." His voice was thick with alcohol, although it was only early afternoon.

"I need to stay with you for a little while."

He laughed. "Let me get this straight, sweetheart. First you curse at me and tell me to stay away from you, and then you say you want to move in with me. You've gotta be joking."

His mocking tone swallowed every bit of confidence that she had left. "Haymitch please," she begged, her voice breaking, "Everything here causes flashbacks. It's so loud as they're rebuilding the city, there's so much electricity. I spend most of my days in the fetal position, worrying that the prison guards are going to zap me. I can feel it, Haymitch. I know it's not real, but I can feel it."

"Damn," he said after a long pause, "Fine."

* * *

"I guess we're even now, aren't we? You can't say I don't understand your pain anymore," she said one night, after he had gotten her out of a flashback.

"What are you talking about?"

"Remember that time that I came to your house before the Quarter Quell reaping? You said I'd never understand your pain." Her voice was far away. "I get it now. I asked you to help me to understand, and you did, by letting me get arrested and lose my family."

"You still think I did it on purpose? By not telling you anything, I thought I was protecting you from them. I thought that they wouldn't care about hurting someone who didn't have the information they needed."

"So you weren't trying to get even?" She sniffled, still weak.

"Effie, I would never wish this on anyone."

She kissed his lips softly, for the first time since that night in the Capitol. She didn't taste as sweet, but he almost liked her better that way.

* * *

Life in District 12 was not what she was accustomed to. It was also a town that was being rebuilt, but it was much quieter. In return for having to share his house with her, she became like a housekeeper, cleaning the house, doing his laundry, keeping food in stock, and feeding his geese when he forgot. Katniss taught her how to fold laundry and Peeta taught her how to cook, two skills that were seldom needed in the Capitol.

She felt as if she was starting a new life, wearing handmade clothes and leaving her hair and face in their natural states. Even her Capitol accent began to fade away slowly. At first, people had whispered, angry District 12 residents that thought of her as a representation of all that was bad in the old Capitol, but as time wore on, other conversations became more interesting.

Even Haymitch improved, if even slightly. Effie was there when the terrors invaded his dreams; she would hold his head and stroke his dark hair as he cried into her lap, violent sobs caused by violent dreams. He began to rely more on Effie than his bottles, because his bottles didn't have a steady heartbeat to listen to or soft skin to remind him that not everyone he cared about was dead.

It was inevitable that they'd still bicker; they were still the same, stubborn people. The bickering was a comfort to both of them though, a slice of normalcy in their new world. He would kiss her scars and she would kiss his, as if their lips would heal them, as if they could close the holes.

In her earlier years, she would've hoped for a long, happy life with him, but the memories of the war held happiness just beyond their grasp and longevity was just not realistic. She would've hoped for marriage and babies, but they were too broken; it wouldn't have been fair to bring a child into their world, where they could barely take care of themselves. Peeta tried to convince them to marry, the romantic that he was, but Katniss understood. Two broken things tied together does not make something whole. It wouldn't bring them any more happiness to be bonded by golden rings and a slip of paper.

Effie finally realized what Haymitch had known long ago, that happiness couldn't be achieved by humans, that it was just an abstract concept that was intangible and unrealistic, a ploy to get people to fight harder and to give them hope.

* * *

Haymitch died five years after the war, after a year of cancer cells eating at his liver. She could recall him laughing and saying, "I was thrown into a fight to the death as a teenager, and I was a major leader in the overthrowing of the government, but I'm gonna die of cancer. How's that for a twist ending; people have wanted to kill me since I was a teenager, but my own body ends up killing me."

On his death bed, Haymitch was as sarcastic as he'd been when healthy, jokingly asking Katniss to name her firstborn son after him, if she ever decided to have kids.

"Middle name, _maybe_ ," she retorted, tears still in her eyes. Despite everything, Peeta's face lit up at the mention of having children. Peeta wasn't like Haymitch; there was still hope for him. Despite everything, he still believed in a future. She wished she could say the same.

"You're a great man, you know, Haymitch. You always have been." The tears fall harder and faster because Haymitch was the closest thing Katniss had to a father figure, although he never could've replaced her real father.

"Haymitch, I love you," were Effie's words, and he reciprocated them, his voice weak. They had to pry her away from him when his heart monitor flatlined. She never wanted to let go of his hand.

* * *

It wasn't a good ending, and it wasn't pretty, but wasn't that the point of a star-crossed love? The lovers were doomed from the start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about this probably disappointing second chapter. I know it's probably a lot worse than the first, but I've been so disconnected from this story for such a long time. Anyway, I spent a lot of time writing this, so a review would be absolutely lovely, and I'm always up for constructive criticism.


End file.
